Chocolate Eyes
by GentleFlame
Summary: He would die to protect her. She doesn't want a giant Veela obsessed with making her happy. Too bad; she's got one.
1. Chapter 1

**Okay, new story. We all know that Draco and Hermione were made to be; if it takes me bending the very laws of Harry Potter and making Draco a Veela that is what is going to happen. All the recognisable characters belong to the wonderful J.K Rowling, whose only mistake was not getting the Slytherin Sex God and the Gryffindor Princess together.**

Draco ran his fingers through his white-blonde hair, enjoying the feel much more now that he'd stopped slathering on the gel. The golden light favourably illuminated the chiselled abs on his naked torso- it was a particularly nice chest, if he did say so himself. And he did. Frequently. Why pretend modesty when you were the undisputed Slytherin Sex God, famed for your ability to pleasure any female in Hogwarts? The only problem he had when it came to getting some was stopping the girls becoming too attached. He had no intentions of becoming anything close to a monogamist anywhere in the conceivable future, despite the pleas of his-

'Draaaacoooo!'

He winced and tugged the grey dress shirt over his shoulders, buttoning it up as he turned away from his- incredible- reflection.

'Yes, Mother?' he called. God, his back really hurt- two sharp epicentres of pressure on each shoulder bone. He needed a better bed.

'Pansy is heeeeeere!'

He almost gagged at the name. Why would you name a bitchy little slut after a pretty, harmless flower? Cruella De Ville would be more appropriate. His parents were mad if they thought he was going to _marry _the brat.

'Coming!' he shouted. To be honest he'd rather stick a cursed, rusty poker into his eye socket than sit around one of those little lace-covered tables his mother was so fond of and play tea-parties, but he knew how to pick his battles. With a sigh and one last glance in the mirror, he went up the stairs and down the hall, waving his wand to shut the door behind him.

Pansy was all done up in some God-awful salmon coloured frock, her face heavily coated with makeup. As he had predicted, there were cups of tea. Smoked salmon sandwiches. Even a trio of fucking iced cupcakes with little edible flowers on the top. If this ever got out at school, his reputation would be ruined.

Scowling, he pulled out one of the delicate white seats and sank down on it, studiously not looking at either of the over exited females.

'Draco, darling, how are you? Won't you say hello to Pansy?' Draco glared at the floor. His mother kicked him under the table.\

Wincing, he dragged his gaze to the metaphorical lipstick-smeared pig.

'Pansy. How are you?'

'I bought, like, _five _dresses in the weekend.'

That was answer enough. Pansy liked the simple things in life; Gucci, WonderWitch, anything that involved silk and velvet in the same garment. God, how he hated her. He sank white teeth into a cupcake viciously, then paused. What was wrong with his mouth? He raised a hand and prodded around his two front teeth.

What.

The.

Fuck.

'Draco!' hissed his scandalised mother. 'Hands away from your mouth- manners!'

He couldn't care less about his P's and Q's at that particular time.

He had fangs.

Big ones.

Not big enough to curve over his lip, but still a fair size. His back sized up and he twitched with pain.

'Draco? Are you okay?' Pansy put a hand on his forearm.

It burned. His arm was on fire, now his body, and it was all focussed on that evil, malicious handprint, sending black tendrils of greed and sheer malice through his body. There was only a split second to feel puzzled over his reaction before his entire body gave a massive jerk, drawn upwards by some invisible, fiery hand that gripped his heart.

He was on the floor, and something was trying to rip its way out of his back. He could feel it clawing madly at the unblemished skin, feel the droplets of blood that sprayed from the two gaping wounds that surely must be there. Something, two something's, stretched inside him, flexing in a way that made his vision fade with white-hot agony. His mother and Pansy were screaming, he noted distantly, but he couldn't concentrate on that, not with the aching, burning, slicing pain that was rocketing through his entire body, not with the one thought that cut through the dizziness of his mind;

Cinnamon.

Cinnamon curls. Cinnamon scent. Cinnamon eyes. A girl, slender, with creamy skin. A girl who smelled like spices. A girl who he must protect.

A girl he would die to protect.

He knew, then, that he would kill anyone who made this girl frown. Anyone who dared touch her would pray for death before he found them. His world narrowed to the pain and the thought of his Mate. Mate. She was his Mate.

The pain closed in around him, cold, boiling hot. His last thought before the sticky blackness coated him was that he had never truly understood how beautiful chocolate brown eyes could be.

He woke to a faint humming noise, interrupted by the occasional cluster of beeps and squeals. He sniffed the air- disinfectant, human, human, blood, bruising, scared, pain, human, chemical, Mother. No cinnamon. He wanted, needed, cinnamon.

'I had hoped this would skip a generation. In vain, I suppose; it's rare for the Veela gene to be recessive if the paternal carrier was not active.'

Father. He could smell it.

'But so late! The toxins… he only has a month to find and mark his Mate!'

'We're _Malfoy's, _darling, our net worth is over a billion and our linage is impeccable. What pure blooded female in her right mind _wouldn't _want the only heir as a Mate?'

'Honey, have you considered…'

'Don't say it. There is no way my son is going to get attached to one of those Mudblood things…'

Draco leapt out of the bed with a vicious roar. He didn't even know what his father had said to deserve this, but that didn't stop him taking the bugger by the neck and shaking him violently. He had insulted something precious and his.

He felt two things flex behind him and his fangs drop down.

'Don't… say… THAT!'

His voice was a sub-human grown. Startled nurses- all men- were scattered around the room, looking terrified. He had wings, big black ones. That didn't bother him.

'I need to get to Hogwarts. Need to get to Hogwarts.'


	2. In Which There Are Claws

**Draco lays eyes on a certain Miss Granger. The claws come out. Literally.**

**Read, review, follow, and I'll love you forever. Plus Veela!Draco will give you a lap dance. Or Hermione. Whatever your type is. Lap dances for everyone! Oh, by the way, I know nothing about trains. But this is a magic train so what I say goes, kay? Oh, and where I live, you can get your driving licence at sixteen. If you notice anything else, tell me. **

Hermione tugged a brush through her errant curls, silently cursing herself for not doing a quick read up on those Detangling spells Lavender was so fond of. A couple of strands decided to grip tenaciously to the spikes, making her wince. She would kill for a glorious waterfall of silky scarlet like Ginny, who, funnily enough, hated her hair. There were always spells, of course, but she didn't particularly like the idea of appearance-enhancing charms.

'Are you trying to make yourself bald, 'Mione?'

She blinked and turned to look at Ron. It took a second to notice that she was practically bashing her skull with the bloody comb.

'No. How long 'till we get to Hogwarts? I'm starving.'

'Told you that you should have got those chocolate frogs.'

'I _hate _those things. I feel like I'm committing murder when I bite their heads off.'

Ron rolled his eyes at Harry, who gave him a sympathetic look in return. It was one of those male bonding moments. She was fine with them having those; she just hated it when they were over her.

The train made an odd squealing noise and swayed a little, making Hermione grab on to the arm of her chair.

'What was that?'

Harry shrugged dismissively.

'Sharp turn, maybe? We're coming up to the twisty bit. Hey, Ron, do you have any more Liquorice Wands?'

Ron held out the box and both Harry and Hermione grabbed one short coiled rope of black deliciousness. The train gave another ear-piercing squeal.

'Okay, that's freaking me out now. Do you think there's something wrong with it?'

'Calm _down. _You know you get yourself in a state over nothing. Remember that time you went on for half an hour about car brake failure before you had your first driving lesson, which you then passed with flying colours?' Harry bit down on his Liquorice Wand to emphasise his point and Hermione begrudgingly sucked on hers. She did have a little bit of a hysteria problem. Just a small one.

She pulled Crookshanks out of his carry bag and put him on her lap, where he purred contentedly. She took a deep breath and leaned back in her chair.

The train gave one last groan and a massive jerk, a giant heave that sent Hermione sprawling to the floor and made her cat sink little teeth into her arm. Screams bounced off the wall. She curled up in a ball and covered her head with her hands as the train gave another sickening lurch.

A roar cut through the buzz of panic. And the fact half the train carriage wall was ripped off by something… something… someone with massive, inky black wings and snow white claws. And an eight pack. Very nice eight pack.

Wait. Terrifying monster.

She let out a hysterical scream- another one- and tried to back away, but the _thing _leapt into the compartment and grabbed her in its arms like a rag doll. Ron let out a gasped curse but the stream of blue light just seemed to bounce off the creature, along with the red jinx from a horizontal Harry.

'Put… me… down!'

Some major heavy breathing went on.

'Mate… cinnamon… protect, must protect… BLOOD!'

She looked down at her arm; there were a few little puncture marks and a small amount of blood. Apart from a couple of bruises, it was only complete and utter terror that was the problem.

'Who dared to hurt my Mate?'

'The cat… what are you? Put me down or I'll hex your balls off!'

The train seemed to have stabilised; it certainly wasn't moving. She garnered enough concentration to glance at her captors face.

'DRACO MALFOY?'

'Mate.'

'What the _fuck?'_

'Fuck? Draco would like to fuck Mate.'

'What have you been smoking, Ferret? Drop me, now!'

'No. Draco must hold Mate so Mate can be safe.'

By now Harry and Ron had struggled to their feet and, having realised spells were ineffective, began trying to pry her out of the Draco-thing's grasp. He snarled viciously.

'Men touching Mate. Men will stop or men will have their intestines tied around their throats.'

Hermione increased the desperation in her wriggling.

'What's wrong with you, Malfoy? You can't hurt my friends- or me! You'll get expelled!'

'Draco would never hurt Mate! Draco might hurt men if they don't stop touching Mate's leg, though.'

'Don't hurt anyone!'

'Teacher! Emergency! We have some kind of… creature Malfoy thing in here and it's got Hermione!'

The 'Malfoy thing' looked startled.

'Hermione? That is Mate's name? Draco recognises it.'

'What are you on about? You've known me for six years!'

'Shh. Draco is remembering. He-' pointing at the boys trying to pull Hermione out of his arms- 'Is the Boy Who Won't Die. _He_ is Weaselbee. You are precious and beautiful and mine.' He looked tenderly at Hermione as he said the last phrase.

'What the fuck happened to you, Malfoy? Why do you have freaking wings… and claws…. and fangs?'

There was a glimmer of humour in the silver eyes that looked down at her.

'I hit puberty.'

**She that little box with TYPE REVIEW HERE?**


	3. In Which There Is Basic Nail Care

**Okay, some of you were worried about Draco being all caveman all the time and some didn't get how he switched back to the old Malfoy in the last bit. Don't worry; I'm not going to have Draco being all grunt-grunt all the time. In some Veela fics it kind of works, but I always think Hermione would never fall in love with someone who couldn't hold a decent conversation. Depending on the situation, he is going to be new/old. It's kind of a split personality thing. Oh, and Hermione has a thing for swearing weirdly, because… yeah.**

It had taken ten minutes, but Hermione had finally managed to get the Draco Thing to put her down on the hard, cold, blissful ground. Malfoy was still speaking in third person half the time, and snarling whenever Ron or Harry tried to approach her, but they had progressed on to following basic grammatical sentence structures.

'Hang on, Malfoy… your father explained what?'

'My species.'

Hermione spluttered.

'Human! Ferret. Ferret human. What do you mean, species?'

He looked almost reflective, what with his angular features half-cloaked the shadow cast from his wings; some kind of judge of the dead, an angel.

'How much does Mate know about Veela?'

She blinked and- despite the seriousness of the situation- saw Harry and Ron give identical 'why did you have to ask' groans.

'They're- don't touch me- a vaguely humanoid species with large, dark coloured wings, fangs, and claws. They mate for life, usually with one of their own species, but the males can occasionally mate with an elf or something like that. In human or Veela form, colouring is always fair to white, with… HOLY SWEET AUNT PINNAPLE CRAP!'

'Mate is mental.'

'Shut up! Shut up! You're a _Veela?'_

'Draco is confused. Isn't he meant to be quiet?'

'Shut up and tell me if it's true!'

It took one raised white eyebrow for her to realise how incredibly stupid that sounded.

'Erase that. Are you, or are you not, a Veela?'

'Yes.'

'Yes what?'

'Yes, Draco is a Veela.'

Ron and Harry still looked blank, but Hermione slid down to the floor before bouncing back up like a jack-in-the-box and warily poking one massive, inky wing. It felt like velvet over steel.

'Can you fly with them?'

Malfoy sent what could have been an adorably affronted look, had he not been a seven foot tall monster from the metaphorical deep.

'Of course Draco can _fly. _They're not there to look pretty.'

'Can I touch your claws?'

Slightly bemused, Draco held out the vicious instruments of death for Hermione's casual observation.

'I suppose these would be used for swooping down and snatching prey?'

'And to protect my Mate.'

She waved a distracted hand.

'Yeah, yeah. Do you polish these things or something? They're practically luminescent.'

Draco puffed out his chest, looking a little smug.

'Draco dips them in warm olive oil and massages the cuticles every night. It keeps them healthy. Draco knows some Veela go for the whole yellow, gnarled look, but that's not for him.'

'So true. And the fangs… wait. I'm being rude. It's just that I've had an obsession with Veela since second year.'

'Draco is pleased his Hermione is not freaking out.'

'No. I mean, the storming in thing was strange, but a real, live Veela!'

Ron raised a mildly dorky hand from where he was cowering in a corner.

'Yes, Ron?'

'Don't you think you should step away from the terrifying beast now he's not holding you hostage? Just, like, a thought.'

'This could be the only chance I ever get to interact with a Veela, Ron! They're almost extinct in Brittan. And not only that, but a _Kingly_ Veela- it's like Christmas!'

'He's a what?'

'I'm a what?'

Hermione looked shocked. The ignorance of her peers never ceased to amaze.

'Don't you know? We learnt it in History of Magic Veela come in to strains; those descended from the Elven in the South and those descended from the Elven in the North. Both were physically almost identical, but Veela from the South can't fly, their wings have purely cultural purposes. No reason to fly when there are no predators, right? The Northern strain has larger fangs and claws, as well as flight. When the two strains were driven into the East by human settlement, they began to call themselves Common and Kingly Veela respectively, because the Southern Veela outnumbered the Northern by a ratio of 1:6. Fascinating, really.'

'No' said Harry. 'Not really.'

'That attitude is quite possibly why your grade average is abominably low, Harry. Why-'

A sharp, reedy voice cut through the would-be lecture.

'No need to panic, students! Merely a small breakdown. We'll be up and running within five minutes. Just- Malfoy! How… what… Flitwick! Snape! The Veela is out- and with his Mate! Granger, don't move!'

Hermione nodded, then paused.

'What did you say I was?'

'Hermione is Draco's Mate.'

Her world froze and her mouth hung open. It took a good minute for her to gather up the ability to say;

'No way on this motherfucking planet. Professor?'

'Language, Miss Granger.'

'Don't bullshit me now. Why is he saying I'm his Mate? It's a lie, isn't it?'

The older woman looked contrite, almost like a grey, delicate china doll- abet one with steely eyes- next to the hulking thing that was, apparently, Malfoy.

'I'm afraid not, dear. We did suspect it would be you; all he knew was that you smelled like cinnamon, with brown hair and eyes, and that you were smart. We also had reason to believe you were a Muggleborn. Originally we thought Anita Howarth from Ravenclaw, but clearly…'

Draco let out a roar.

'Hermione Draco's Mate. No other.'

A red-faced Flitwick came sprinting up to stand beside McGonagall, wand raised.

'Stay away from my Mate!'

Something snapped in Hermione and she began to pound at her unwanted protector's chest with both fists.

'You think this is funny, Malfoy? You got all the teachers involved, right? Hilarious.'

'No, Draco would never…'

'Wouldn't he? Torture me for years with taunts and spells, sure, but playing a sick joke is off limits? Let me get past you'.

'No! Draco must protect Mate!'

Hermione ducked under a flailing, muscular arm sprinted off the train. Some kind of scuffle went on behind her- everyone against Malfoy was a fair fight at the moment- but she couldn't care less, stumbling into the rain with trickling tears running down her flushed face. It couldn't be true. It couldn't.

**Review!**


	4. In Which There Are Tantrums

**Okay, a two part AN. First, Snape, Fred, Tonks, Lupin and Dumbledore are all alive. Most of that nasty battle stuff still happened, but it was Theodore Nott, instead of Malfoy, who did the whole cabinet thing. So Malfoy was a bully and a bit of a dick, and his father was a Death Eater, but he had nothing to do with it. You might notice some inaccuracies; all my fault. **

**Two, I've been overwhelmed with all the support from you devastatingly good looking and unbelievably intelligent followers, favouriters and reviewers. If updates have been a little slow it's because I have two stories going on at the moment, Cinnamon Hearts and this, plus power cuts and exams. This really should be my Trig review... oops. Still, enjoy!**

Hermione sat down with a huff. The cheek of it all! As she could actually be his… Mate. Ha! That didn't happen in real life. It just _didn't. _So what if she'd dreamed of being a Veela Mate since she first discovered the species in a dusty old book in a dark corner of the Library. Truthfully, she knew McGonagall would never play a prank like this, but she wouldn't put it past Malfoy to cast a dark spell and control all the teachers' minds.

She was being silly now. It was too hard to control multiple Wizard minds at once.

She huddled her knees to her chest and considered the facts. Malfoy was, indisputably, a Veela- you couldn't transfigure yourself into a fake one, their DNA was unique in that respect. And Veela did have Mates, and did Mate for life, she knew that much. An old passage from Male Veela: A To Vresurfaced in her mind.

_M= MATE_

_The male Veela, during the Transformation, will be flooded with images and scents of his future Mate, although it is rare for them to know exact dates, places or names. Should they be lucky enough to locate their female before the Deadline, male Veela will become exceedingly and increasingly protective until the ritual is complete. It is unwise for any other males, perhaps excepting fathers or brothers, to be around the Mate at this time. The Veela, although always highly intelligent, will regress to basic speech patterns and primeval thought processes when the Mate is in danger._

It fit. Goddamn it, the whole thing fit like a jigsaw. Wait. Deadline. Tongue in cheek reference to the fact male Veela died on their eighteenth birthday if they didn't find their Mate.

Seeing as Malfoy, being older than her, was at least seventeen and a half, that little thing was kind of important.

No. She was starting to feel… something… worry? She wasn't his Mate. Nice, normal witches like Hermione Jean Granger did not have semi mythical connections with snarly guard dog Veela things.

She was going to march right up to that presumptuous prick and give him a piece of her mind. Making her worry about Deadlines as if a blood elitist could fall for a Muggleborn. As if the boy voted Hottest Slytherin four times in a row would be interested in a frizzy haired Gryffindor. As if, as if. It wasn't true. Logic and reason were wrong; there was no option B.

She sighed and brushed a hand through her errant mane and stretched out both legs, one at a time, sighing as the tense muscles relaxed slightly. It had been an action packed half hour, alright. Not really how she'd pictured the first day of seventh year. In her vision, there had been fun joke spells, sweet and salty popcorn, books. Maybe a bit of roast lamb for dinner, if she was pushing the boat out. Certainly not a nasty bite on her arm, a healthy sprinkling of bruises, and a large quantity of denial.

Reasonable denial based on the natural order of the world, she reminded herself.

She should probably go and get back on the train now; the Professor had said it would be up and running in ten minutes, and while an epic battle with a monster may have temporarily halted the proceedings, Hogwarts teachers were known for not letting dramatic duels come between them and deadlines. It took a minute to muster the courage to stand up and start walking- staggering, whatever- towards the carriage. She was about thirty meters out, and even with the distance and the loud buzz of anger in her ears she could hear Harry and Ron shouting.

'Get your hands off me and let me stomp on his face!'

'Lemme at him! Let me go!'

'Potter, Weasely, the _stupefy _will only work for so long! We're lucky it hit his heart; these spells don't work on Veela if they're aimed anywhere else, and there is no way on earth we could have tackled him in a territorial rage.'

'Hermione is not territory!'

Damn right, the feminist Hermione agreed mentally, coming out from behind a copse of trees.

'Ah, Miss Granger. Stay back would you, dear? I am _so _sorry he got out- we had him drugged in the back carriage, but the train problems and you being hurt was a bit much for the poor boy.'

'Let… me… smash… his little Ferret nose!'

'Potter, the boy is indisposed! Please save your violent inclinations for a more appropriate time. Right, Flitwick, care to charm him back into the prepared carriage? He ripped the wall out, obviously, but I think we have someone on that.'

Hermione had just noticed the small but rapidly growing group of students watching the muscular Veela float gently past. Some had their jaws down to their ankles- whether in shock, horror or an understandable appreciation of a very fine eight pack bared by the rips in his shirt- others were just blinking blankly at what was so obviously not the usual suave Malfoy.

Join the club, Hermione thought darkly, to all causes and reactions. Thin, glowing ropes were twisting around defined forearms with one brisk flick and the unconscious boy was lowered into a bed, while the metal wall of the train slowly spread over the jagged hole that looked as though someone tall had somehow sprinted through it.

_P: PHYSICAL CHARICTERISTICS _

_Male Veela are extraordinarily strong and tall, always topping 6'2 and with clearly defined muscles, and fair to white hair, whether in Human or Veela form. The strength of this beast is such cases have been noted in which Veela punch or run through walls of solid steel, lift cars and vans, and, in one case, dig a hole in solid rock five foot deep with bare hands. The wings, fangs and teeth of the Veela are as hard as diamond- although the wings will appear slightly softer to a Mate's touch- and cannot be chipped or cut with any material on earth. The Kingly Veela can shift between full humanoid and Veela form within seconds, with the Common Veela taking about a minute. In both cases it is speeded up when the mate is in danger. _

Sometimes having a perfect memory was a real bitch. His wing had _definitely _been as ahrd as diamond. Really. She was telling the truth.

She felt a hand on her shoulder and flinched, turning abruptly on her heel.

'Didn't mean to startle you, Miss Granger. I think we have a lot to discuss.

Hermione made a 'lead the way' gesture, years of training and a reflex of politeness to teachers making her muffle her next statement under a shaking hand.

'You bet we do.'


	5. In Which There Are Damsels In Distress

**I know, I'm a terrible person for updating so irregularly and working on to In Progress stories at once, but I promise I won't abandon either of my fics… I hate it when people do that, plus I have a soft spot for both Cinnamon Hearts and Chocolate Eyes (see a bit of a theme there?) Once I've finished one of these I'm thinking of dabbling my toes in some Harmony or Draco/Ginny. Do you guys know any good stories about those pairings? Come on, do some shameless self promotion.**

Hermione sat down awkwardly on the leather seat and waited for Professor McGonagall to begin. She was trembling a bit, fast little flutters, barely noticeable to anyone else.

'Miss Granger…' the Professor began, then sighed. 'Hermione, all of this is completely confidential, do you understand? You can't even tell Potter and Weasely. I am trusting you with some rather sensitive information that some would prefer never saw the light at all, and repercussions would be… severe… in some cases.'

Hermione blinked. She felt as if ninjas cloaked in black were due to come swinging past the window any second now.

'I understand, Professor. I won't tell a soul.'

Malfoy first became aware of his… condition… three days ago. By all recollections it was rather dramatic; he began his Transformation in the middle of afternoon tea with his mother and Miss Pansy. Oh! You do know about Veela, Hermione?'

'Of course.'

'Good. Well, then, you'll understand all about how a family can hand down the gene, which can switch between recessive and active. Lucius Malfoy carries the recessive gene, Draco, as it has recently been discovered, is very much active.'

'I may have noticed some minor changes.'

'Yes, yes. Impressive specimen; Kingly, if you haven't noticed. But the point is, Granger, all Veela have a Mate. It's vital for their survival. The Mate provides the only compatible blood to the Veela's, as well as love and affection- even the _touch _of another female causes unbelievable pain to the Male Veela. For this reason the Veela is equipped with all the necessary tools to locate their perfect other half; the _one _Mate that will work. Draco, upon awakening, knew that his Mate is a Muggleborn with brown hair and eyes, very intelligent, and was best friends with two boys.' The usually steely Professor winced.

'He didn't like that last bit- at all- and what with the amount of discomfort distant caused ,we made the decision to let him on the train under controlled conditions. Unfortunately, when the train had a bit of a problem you must have started bleeding. A Veela can smell his Mate's blood from a mile off, and find it quite… distressing. Up until then we weren't _exactly _sure who his Mate was, nor was Draco himself, but we had narrowed it down to a girl in from Ravenclaw and yourself. Draco used the scent of your blood to locate you- it wasn't hard to deduct that you were his Mate.'

Hermione shuddered at the word.

'With all due respect, that is complete and utter bullshit. There is no _way _I am Malfoy's Mate- he hates me! I hate him!'

The teacher looked a trifle offended, but Hermione had bigger things to worry about- like the complete and utter destruction of life as she knew it.

'Listen, are you sure there's no other option? I mean, who's to say his mate even goes to Hogwarts? There are other magical schools that this mystery girl could attend.'

'No, no, it's most definitely Hogwarts.' McGonagall paused and wrung her hands.

'The Deadline- do you know about the Deadline?'

Hermione winced. She was trying to ignore the whole thing surrounding the fact Veela met a very, very nasty death if they didn't Mate, involving the build up of toxins and starvation. But she couldn't think about that- she'd melt. Intellectual Badass- or nerd, whatever- she may be, but it would take a heart of stone to let someone die without emotion.

The question was; would she wish that on her worst enemy?

'Miss Granger? Are you with me?'

'Hmm? Oh, yes. Right here. You were saying?'

'We'll need to do a few tests with Mr. Malfoy and you- in a controlled environment, of course, you'd be completely safe. You see, we're not sure if it's feasible to allow Draco to attend classes while he hasn't Mated. It won't take long.'

'Wasn't the train carriage meant to be a controlled environment? He didn't have much of a problem demolishing that.'

To her credit, the teacher looked a little embarrassed.

'Yes… we underestimated his strength. It won't happen again, I can promise you that.'

Hermione rested her head in her palms. Everything that had happened in the last hour had been so overwhelming, so unreal and impossible, and it all began crashing down on her in waves. She felt her breathing speed up but was distracted by the white noise buzzing through her ears. Veela! It seemed to say, Deadline, Mate, Blood, Train, Test, Claws, Wings…

'Miss Granger!'

She could feel a big, wracking sob working its way up her chest. Little puffs of air escaped her clenched lips.

"Miss Granger, calm down! Draco is probably awakening- if he feels your distress…'

God, God, God, holy fuck. She could feel black begin to fade the edges of her vision. On her arm, the bite throbbed. Fuck, fuck, fuck. She was vaguely aware of tears streaming down her face, and had some incomplete notion that it wasn't like her at all to break down like this. Not her, the brave, clever Hermione Granger- but right then she was just 'Mione, the terrified, hysterical girl who had just realised she was a giant, snarly monsters Mate.

'Stop it, Granger! Now!'

Hands shaking her shoulders, but it was too late. The wall of the compartment was ripped off and a now-familiar figure, feathers bristling, crouched like a tiger about to pounce. He did- pounce, that is, grabbing Hermione in his arms before taking off with one powerful flick of his black wings. Blackness swallowed Hermione whole, taking her into a dark, damp, warm place where there was no snarly Malfoy or panicked McGonagall, just a steady, rocking movement and a warm chest.

**Ohh, Hermione has been kidnapped by the dashingly good looking Malfoy! They will be going back to Hogwarts, but the question is when… and how our dear 'Mione will convince her guardian that a school full of males is a good place for her to be! It has been scientifically proven that reviewing will heighten the chance of you winning the lottery by unicorn%.**


	6. In Which The Damsel Kicks Butt

**Me, Malfoy. You, Hermione. I liked the whole Draco- Dragon connotation thing going on… I thought the two needed some 'alone time', and lacking the ability to do things normally, settled for this. Enjoy, my gorgeous unicorns. On a side note, why are they called uni****_corns _****and not uni****_horns? _****I mean, 'uni' means one, and corn means grain, so…? One grain? That sounds like something Jedi would eat for lunch.**

Hermione groaned and tried to crack her eyes open. It was a little- a lot- harder than normal, even on the first day of term. Was it the first day of term? Everything was hazy in her mind. Something about goddamn Veela ferrets.

'Crêpe!' she shouted, jerking bolt upright. Her eyes took a bit longer to adjust to the whole mortal peril thing, but sheer terror managed to convince them to slowly slide open.

Grey eyes peering into hers.

With a little gasp, she forced her arms to propel her backwards, bum-shuffling across the jagged, cold floor.

Jagged, cold floor? This wasn't Hogwarts, unless Dumbledore had suffered a late-life crises and decided that the minimalistic cave-like style would promote a positive leaning environment. Old people had those, you know; just look at her Great Aunt Bertha, sweetest old lady you ever met, now taking pole dancing classes between bingo games.

'Where a-am I?' she stuttered, shuddering not so much against the icy air as from deep, instinctual fear- and the image of Bertha in a rhinestone studded panty set. In some ways, the helpless personality she'd adopted managed to annoy her even as she panicked, clutching a rock to her chest. Where was the kick-ass Hermione who helped Harry Potter destroy the Horcruxes on an emotionally and mentally draining journey? Where was the gifted witch who had been voted (it was a secret, so of course everyone knew about it) Most Talented Student Of The Year five times in a row? She was going to stop snivelling _right now, _or at least when all this scariness stopped and she was back at the Burrow, tucked up in bed with a mug of hot chocolate and a brown paper bag.

'Draco senses Mate is scared.'

She snapped. Standing up was of yet an impossibility, but she could damn well look intimidating huddling on the ground clutching a stone like it was her favourite teddy bear. Maybe not as scary as the seven foot, heavily muscled humanoid with ten foot black wings and claws as sharp as razors, but pretty close, if she did say so herself.

'I'm not scared, Malfoy- your spidey senses must be all mucked up. Just like you, actually- can you _stop _talking in the third person or is that a side effect of being turned into a lunatic? I'm not your Mate!'

'Draco… _I _remember most of that stuff now, Ma- Hermione. It disgusts me. I laughed at you, taunted you, called you a… a Mudblood… Dra- I hate myself for what I was, you have to believe that.'

'Great! I've been kidnapped by a non-human thing with self image issues who wants my blood. Every girl's dream. How about we just forget this ever happen? I'll go back to Hogwarts, you search for your real Mate, howl at the moon, jerk off, whatever, and we'll both be happy.'

The roar was unexpected. She would later swear on her life that she did not stumble back from her half-crouching position, gasping. Honestly. As if.  
'What the _fuck?'_

'Mate will not joke about things like this!'

That did it. She stood up, (yes, she was mildly proud of this) straightened her back and looked him right in the eye.

'You will not tell me what I can and can't joke about. You will not kidnap me and take me to weird locations. You will take me back to Hogwarts, _right now._'

'No.'

Hermione tilted her head, then screamed, pointing to the mouth if the cave.

'God! Mountain lion!'

Draco whirled around, fangs bared. She took the opportunity to send a stunning spell at his flaring wings- a pretty good one, if she did say so herself. He dropped like a rock.

Hermione walked hurriedly to where the light was filtering in, keeping one eye on the prone body sprawled on the ground. The average wizard took ten minutes to rise from a stunning spell, with a male Veela intent on Mating it would probably last about two.

One look at the view made her mentally faceplam.

Of course their little divot would be hewn two thirds of the way up a two hundred meter sheer cliff face. And she'd just knocked out the only reliable source of transport. Her levitation charms were okay, not good enough to risk her life on- but what was the other option? Hitch a ride on the Veela Express?

Okay, sexual connotations were through the roof.

Behind her, Draco groaned softly. She had maybe a minute to decide what to do.

It was then she noticed something odd.

Even though she'd had a large drink of water about an hour ago, she was _thirsty; _not just a little, but suffering from a deep, aching need.

That was when she remembered.

_E: Eating Habits_

_The Male Veela can, and often does, partake in 'normal' eating habits, and foods humans consume do provide nutrition. However, the only thing the Veela needs is his Mate's blood. The Drinking ritual is two-way; Mates being 'courted' occasionally feel shadows of the hunger plaguing their Veela, and may drink the blood of their partner, although it is not necessary for their survival. The Drinking is described as 'highly pleasurable'.  
_Oh her great golly aunts.

She was a Mate.

And, if she was not very much mistaken, her extremely pissed off Veela was looming behind her.

**So, what do you think? Review and save a puppy. You do want to save the puppies, don't you? Can't you see those big, big brown eyes, begging you to stop that executioner guy who almost killed Buckbeak from slicing his adorable, fluffy little head off? HAVE YOU NO SOUL?**


	7. In Which There Is Grapes

**Hermione's attempt at escaping has failed miserably. You lucky guys get to see the aftermath. Read. Follow. Review! Please. It will make one lonely little Fanfiction writer very happy. Oh, and sorry for the delay- holiday, no internet or computer. I write as I go.**

Hermione pouted. Really. Pouted like a three year old. A dishevelled, slightly dirty three year old tied to a rock with an old piece or rope. And no, this wasn't a porn shoot, although Draco's rippling abs lent themselves to that scenario.

Mmm. Abs.

Wait, kidnapper abs. Not quite as cute.

'Could you untie me? Please_, _Malfoy. I swear I won't try to escape. It's impossible, anyway.'

Growling. Again with the growling. She hoped he didn't plan on leaving her here for long if he was unable to hold a decent conversation. The tiny dimple on his cheek was diverting, but not _that _diverting.

'So how was your holiday? Nice time at the Manor? Maybe you were even able to find your mother in that ridiculously oversized mansion.'

She deepened her voice.

'Yes, Hermione, it was great. I killed several small rodents and drank their blood before placing their cold, dead bodies on the end of Muggleborn's beds.'

Again with the snarling. Wait… was that a _word _she detected?

'I'm going to get some things. I'll be about half an hour. Stay there.'

First person again- was she ever lucky?

'Oh, I won't move an inch!' she promised, tilting her head towards her hands, bound- admittedly not uncomfortably- with a thick braid of rope. A short nod was her only reply before he dove backwards out of the cave like an Olympic diver.

Her heart was in her throat in the brief second before he rose back into her line of vision, black wings flexing. She gasped with relief, then tried to pretend it was just because she was tied to a rock with no food or water and he was her only way to get out, especially since he had her wand. Which it totally was.

Boredom was the biggest problem. Malfoy, as it turned out, was a very nice kidnapper; her wrists weren't even chafing, despite the repeated attempts to wriggle out. Her left bum cheek was beginning to get pins and needles, though, so she was glad when the familiar blonde swooped in, carrying something big and bulky in those lovely muscular arms of his.

'Blanket. Food. Candles.'

He gestured to the items as he spoke, a hint of pride on his face that was quickly eclipsed by concern.

'You look uncomfortable. What is it?'

'Well, there is the whole being abducted thing, but at the moment I'm just panicking about losing blood flow to my ass cheek. Be a darling and untie me.'

He flicked his wand and the knot unravelled. She immediately sprinted towards the mouth of the cave, fully prepared to try and climb down the almost-sheer face. She had been the star of Little Tykes Easy Rock Climbing Group, after all.

Okay, it wasn't the best idea, and it didn't work, anyway. She slammed into an invisible wall of some kind that she was pretty sure hadn't been there before, seeing as she hadn't been reduced to a Hermione pancake.

The admittedly delicious but patently unwelcome chuckles from behind her grated on her nerves. He was smart, and that was her territory.

'What did you do, Malfoy?'

He smirked. He might have acquired wings, fangs and claws, but arrogance will out.

'Just a little _etrus impendo. _You should know it- third year Charms? It can only be undone by the caster. Nice little trick, actually.'

She snarled- it was catching- and stomped over to the bundle of provisions, grabbing a blanket and spreading it over the ground. What? It was cold.

She rifled through the food Draco had bought, counting it to ward off the boredom. Three cans of tinned tomatoes. A small plastic box with a bunch of green grapes. A loaf of pre-sliced bread. Two bars of milk chocolate. Four bottles of water. Five cans of soup. Okay, with that inventory done, what else? Three woollen blankets, a small camping stove, five books.

She eagerly grabbed the volumes- counting things was losing its appeal. She'd never really been interested in _How To Identify And Tame The Gnarled Wood Pixie, _let alone _Muggles: How They Use 'Electricity,' _but anything was better than nothing, and she really didn't need to know that there were one hundred and ninety four grapes, although that may enhance the eating experience.

The sight of five elegant fingers raising a grape to her mouth jolted her concentration.

'You were muttering about grapes.' He raised the fruit a little higher. 'Come on.'

From here, the innocuous little grape looked like a bullet hurtling through the air, dangerous, possibly deadly- or perhaps a poison apple would be a better analogy. He was hardly a hag, but would she still take the bait?

Going against every ounce of self preservation she had, Hermione parted her lips slightly. The slight brush of his fingertips against her lips felt entirely too intimate, and, choking slightly, she reeled back, clutching _The Gardeners Guide To Gnome Reproduction _closely to her chest. 

'W-we need to talk about getting me back to Hogwarts. I appreciate the food and blankets, but our NEWTs! And everyone will be _so _worried; Ron and Harry are probably frantic.'

Upon reflection, mentioning her two best, and very male, friends was probably not a good idea. Her hunch was backed by the wild roars and snarls tearing their way from her Veela's chest. Sometimes she hated her big mouth.

**Okay, we have moved WAY past puppies, people. Review or your bacon will be tasteless FOREVER! Yes, I am going there. Take note of the frantic caps-lock, please. **


	8. In Which There Are Dreams

**Hi! Sorry about the shortness of previous chapters, but I've been busy and trying to keep updates regular enough that you don't forget what's happened previously in the story. Any thoughts on where you see this story going? I have a plot outlined, but subplots/ 'one shot' kind of chapters in which there is lemons, a funny incident and so on could be added if you have anything you'd LOVE to see happen. And thanks to bcmist, who explained the conundrum that keeps me up at night- Cornus from the latin cornus - meaning horn. Thank you for reading my brain vomit. Um, could anyone get a cloth?**

Her sleep had been restless, the three blankets cushioning her not quite enough to pad the sharp contours of the stone floor, the two on top not quite shielding her from the airs sharp, bone aching chill, even with the fire crackling cosily at the mouth of the cave. She held her body deliberately still, trying to relax her muscles so she wouldn't shiver. Hermione rather doubted Malfoy could take the strain of seeing her cold; he'd probably grab her in his excellent arms and fly her to a valley full of lava. His inner Veela wasn't one for half measures.

She rolled on her back and threw an arm over her eyes. How was she going to get out of this? Battling a troll, trying to defeat Voldemort, that was one thing. You knew who the enemy was; you didn't feel guilty when you shoved a wand up their nose- or slits, depending. It wasn't like that with Malfoy. Hell, she was an unofficial authority on Veela, what with all the books she'd devoured in her free time, she knew ninety nine percent of the stuff he was coming out with now wasn't stuff 'Old Ferret' would have said. Huh, at least she wasn't freaking out so much now. It was more a kind of shock that things had moved so fast. She could still see herself now, curled up on a dusty sofa in the back of the library, flicking through an obscure volume about her favourite magical species. _That _Hermione had no idea she would be nerd-napped by her equivalent to Michael Jackson, let alone have him declare she was his Mate. At least she'd accepted that, now. The bloodlust was something even she couldn't ignore. And the other kind of lust.

No, she wasn't going there. Her mind was as clean as freshly driven snow.

After it had been trampled and pooped on by a team of rabid reindeer with serious bowl complaints resulting from an overdose of banana.

Twitching, her toes just the tiniest bit numb, she pulled the blanket up to her chest and wrapped her arms around it. In the absence of Mr. Snuggly Wuggely, it would do.

She flexed her legs and slowly fell into a deep, exhausted slumber.

_Hot hands sliding up and down her goose-pimpled calves, trying to warm them with the friction. Silver blue eyes gazed into her own brown ones, flickering to black when she gazed at him, astounded once again by the glacial beauty so perfectly matched with the fire of his skin. She could feel herself becoming so warm it was almost uncomfortable, the flames licking from low down in her stomach._

_'You…' she murmured, simply because it seemed the right thing to say to the dark archangel who was now rubbing his beautiful mouth against her upper arm. The goose bumps were now an entirely different kind. _

_'Yes,' he growled against her shoulder, before- holy mother of god- laying a small and mind blowingly intimate kiss on her collarbone. 'Me. Mine. You are mine.'_

_Hermione bit back a groan as she tilted her head back, allowing his wandering lips to slide up and down the column of her neck._

_'Only… only if you are mine', she mumbled, disoriented but still a militant feminist, one hand buried in that silk he called hair. Her brief thought about whether he conditioned- and, if so, if that was the reason he smelled so damn good- was whipped away the second his mouth collided with her own. _

_'Always', he said when he pulled back to let her breathe. _

_'Forever', he said when he retreated to examine the mark he left where her neck met her shoulder._

_And she thinks he might have whispered 'yours' as he buried his face in her curly cinnamon mane of hair, but to be honest she was so blissed out she would still have turned around and pressed her lips forcefully to his if he'd murmured 'green stripper cane toads'. And… oh… God that felt good…_

Hermione jerked upright, her eyes flying open and one hand swatting the air in front of her, aiming for an ice sharp cheekbone. Instead she got empty air.

Draco was staring at her, but crouched a good ten meters away. He looked ready to pounce but he didn't look like he'd been snogging her senseless for the last hour.

It took her a while to notice that he'd been growling at her, 'he', of course, being the Veela so worried about her safety he ripped out the side of a train. It would be flattering if it wasn't so damn weird. She tried to focus on what he was saying, but multitasking had its limits, and she was also trying hard to forget that dream. Because she _couldn't _give in now, she _couldn't._ Mating didn't have a 'reset' or 'divorce' button, it couldn't just end like a normal relationship. It was for life, and quite possibly beyond. And, goddamn it, she was seventeen! Not old enough to get married, not even old enough to go into that pub on Main Street back in her home town that dad loved so much. Dad. Huh. She could just imagine introducing Draco to them; he'd probably rip up the heater, thinking it was trying to burn her.

'Are you okay? Granger! Tell me if you're okay. Please. Please. That's it, I'm coming over-'

'N-no! Wait! Pie! No, wait. I-I'm f-f-fine. Swear. J-just a dream. Bad dream. Yeah.'

His brows drew together.

'You said my name. Was the dream about me?'

'Yes! It was awful. Terrifying.'

Hermione hated to admit her mother was right, but she really shouldn't have quit those drama lessons. Perhaps thinking like a tree- _feel _the wind ruffle through your branches- would have helped her lie better. She was hopeless.

Or, on second thought, maybe too good. Malfoy looked hurt. More than hurt, devastated, his eyes filled with self loathing.

'I give you nightmares? I am, was, that bad?'

She could of said yes, but the look in his eyes wasn't reproach. She felt herself reach for him.

**We have moved past puppies, bacon. We're entirely skipping the kittens. Fanfic reader everywhere, I am talking about internet connection. Have it? Love it? Better review, eh? Keep it safe. Not that I'm implying anything. Of course not. You know me, the friendly local lady chuckling like a maniac in her dark basement. Harmless.**

**Still, better review. Just in case.**


	9. In Which There Are Hugs

**Hello, my precioussssseeeeeeesssss. So, I just wanted to assure you there is no WAY I am giving up my story. One, I couldn't leave you hanging, and two, It is MINE and I love it *growls like wild but devastatingly good looking dog*. Here's your dose of Veela yumminess. **

She had that horrible, curling feeling she got in her stomach whenever she'd done something wrong and the teacher was just around the corner. Who knew such cold silver eyes could look so sad? And she could almost swear that was a tear quivering in the corner or his eye, teetering on the brink of trickling down that pale face with its pinched lips and low-drawn brows. He was turned a little away from her, the flames making black shadows beneath his harsh cheekbones, one half in his face covered in darkness. He looked like a brooding ghost reflecting on the scene of his murder.

Okay, she should really stop reading Muggle supernatural thrillers at three in the morning. And eating cheese before bed. Why did she do that so often? She didn't even really like cheese, but she seemed to be under some kind of dairy product hypnosis that resulted in those little cubes of creamy blue or a Colby toastie always becoming available an hour before she slept. The dreams that followed were, without fail, vivid, techicoloured, and completely random. She'd once had a vision of three penguins with straw hats advising her where to get the nicest tuxedoes. When dream Hermione had pointed out she was more of a dress person they turned into little penguin triangles with rounded corners, cartoon-style, and launched themselves at Crabbe and Goyle, who were looking oddly green.

She was deliberately trying to distract herself from Malfoy's distress now, but one glance at his bowed head and she impulsively flung her arms around him. He hesitated briefly, and she thought for a moment she'd done the wrong thing, until she felt his hands creep around her back, rubbing up and down. Trying to get her warm, she guessed. He felt good, warm, solid, safe. It was kind of funny how the cause of her distress seemed like a calm spot in the storm that raged around her, at least for that moment. She breathed in the delicious dark-chocolate and orange scent that came from, it appeared, his neck. The veins in his neck looked delectably blue, two strong cords. She had the strangest urge to sink her teeth into them.

Damn it. With a sigh, she withdrew.

Well, tried to withdraw. Draco's arms turned to steel bands around her waist, locking her against his chest. She pounded a fist against those rock hard abs.

'Let me go!'

'No. Draco tried to be good. Draco saw his Mate cold and it made Draco want to rip something apart and hold her close but he did what Mate wished. Draco heard his Mate has been having nightmares about his cruelty and Draco wanted to tear his own body with his claws, but he did not. Draco is very, very tired of being good.'

Hermione twisted, trying to loosen his grip. He wasn't hurting her, although it was clear he easily could, but she had the feeling submitting would be a bad thing at this particular moment.

'First person, remember? Even Jacob Black could do it, and he was all snarly and imprinty too. Not on Bella, unfortunately. Mind you, he didn't have wings. That could have really improved the movie. He could fly Bella to Hawaii or something and they could bond. I'm Team Jacob all the way, incidentally. Why couldn't you have flown us to Hawaii?'

She was trying to distract him. It didn't work.

'Too far. I could get there, but I'd need somewhere to stop and sleep. It would take about a week and I wouldn't be able to carry much food or water if I had you in my arms.'

'Speaking of those arms, Veela-man, would you mind loosening them a bit? Maybe a lot? We could heat up some of that canned tomato soup. Where did you get that stuff, anyway?'

'I believe Muggles call them 'Convenience Stores.' It was small and it had shiny floors. They had ten different types of tomato sauce.'

Hermione gave up trying to grind his foot with hers to make him let go. He was sniffing her neck now, running his nose along her jaw line.

'You stole it? Malfoy, you can't just _do _that! They might have caught you on video- and dear god! You must have given the cashier a heart attack!'

'No one saw me. The store was empty; it had a sign on the door saying 'Closed Sundays.' And I saw the camera and destroyed it. There will be no problem. You are safe.'

'Malfoy!'

'What?'

'Get your hand away from there. Now!'

Draco blinked, but didn't remove his left hand from where it rested on her breast. His head cocked slightly and he watched her face steadily with those unnerving silver blue eyes.

'Why?'

Hermione made an unladylike choking sound. A chunk of wildly curling hair slid in front of her eyes and she pushed it back with one hand.

'You can't just feel up everyone that gives you a hug! Listen, I get that Draco Malfoy, Prince of Slytherin isn't entirely in control here, but I really just want to go to bed. I've been in this _bloody _cave for what, eight hours? I'm exhausted and cold. I want to get under the blankets by the fire and sleep for a decade. So could you pretty please with a cherry on top let me do?'

Malfoy hesitated, but slowly unwrapped his arms. Her attempt at lunging towards the makeshift bed was thwarted by his hand, which had grip on a bunch of black robe.

'If I let you go you sleep next to me, where I can keep you warm. No arguments.'

Hermione considered her options. He was warm.

'Hands off? No funny business?'

'I promise when we Mate you won't be laughing and it won't be funny. You'll be screaming my name. But yes, for tonight I will not attempt to initiate bonding. You are sleepy and not yet ready.'

'Damn right' Hermione muttered, allowing him to tug her back towards the heap of woollen blankets.

**Review or- and I'm quite serious- you WILL NEVER BE ABLE TO TYPE AGAIN. Uh huh. You want to know how? I will sent my minions to glue your computer keys down, of course. Yes, I have minions. Don't laugh. You're just jealous. You wish you had minions. But I'm not going to share. BACK OFF AND GET YOUR OWN FLYING MOKEYS. **


	10. In Which There Are Decisions

**I am so sorry! I've been sick as a dog- why dog? I'm going to be wildly inventive and say sick as an ostrich- and they're installing ultra-fast broadband outside, so my connection has been down. Just so you know, the reason I don't reply much to reviews isn't because I don't want to, and I do read every one, but I don't have much time to do fanfiction, so I try and write my stories whenever I get the chance. Linking sentences? Who can be bothered? Here you go, a little dose of Veelalicious. **

Draco Lucuis Malfoy, the fanged, clawed, terrifying beast was indisputably a snuggler. One heavily muscled arm was draped over her torso, one giant hand cushioning her head, a muscled thigh slotted between her legs. Escape from the hug monster was almost impossible and, given the icy temperature, undesirable. He was like a furnace, heat radiating off that porcelain skin. Long blonde lashes brushed against his cheeks. Hermione had to stifle a giggle. He looked like an adorable cherub crossed with a fallen archangel.

A low murmur came from his chest and she cocked her head, fascinated by the vibrations against her hand. How did he do that? She couldn't remember reading anything about the _hows _of Veela communication. If she wasn't the Mate this whole debacle could have been quite the research opportunity.

With a delicious little feeling of doing something just a trifle illicit, she carefully unwound her legs from his, keeping her eyes on his face. The slightest twitch of his nose made her hold her breath, only releasing it when he let out a little snuffle and turned his head to the sign. She carefully pulled her arms away and swung a leg over his torso so she straddled him. Bare chest- miles of wonderful, defined bare chest- gleamed in the dying firelight. She leant forward and ran her fingers up and down his neck, trying to identify what was different with his vocal cords. One hand roamed his naked chest, halting when she felt his heartbeat.

It was slow, far slower than it should be. Was that normal? Was he sick? She couldn't remember reading about it. Was her rejection doing something?

'Why did you stop petting me? I was enjoying it.'

She gave a massive jerk that made her slip off that beautiful chest, landing on her butt on the pile of blankets.

'Draco! You were awake?'

'I've been awake for quite a while. The petting?

'It was purely scientific. One hundred percent. You growled and- your heart! It's so… slow. Are you okay? We should get you to a hospital. We should really get you to a hospital. I've never read about it in any of my Veela books, or a medical journal.'

Malfoy looked amused.

'Calm, my little tigress. I am fine. The books do not have it because we do not wish them to have it.'

Hermione was immediately interested. Familiarity may have bred wariness as to that particular species, but the nerd in her couldn't resist finding out confidential information like this. She made a hand gesture that signalled 'go on'.

'Veela do not die of natural causes, aging and the like, until their Mate passes away. Ever.'

She felt like she should be taking notes. This was fascinating.

'How does it work?'

Our heart rate is slow because our lifespan is potentially so long. About four hundred years, they estimate, should the Mate not die and no wound be taken. We age visibly to match our Mate, but only externally. Internally, a ninety year old Veela would be identical to an eighteen year old one.'

'I know Veela die when their Mates do, but I thought it was grief. There is a biological component?'

'Yes. If there weren't, the Veela would still die from a broken heart and, perhaps, suicide, but the blood of our Mate is obviously important to us nutritionally, especially at the start.

The books know that, just not to what extent. A week without blood and the Veela would be sick and weak, a fortnight and he would be dead.'

'Malfoy.'

Hermione crossed her legs and looked him in the eye, fiddling with one corner of the woollen blanket, worrying her lower lip between her teeth.

'Your Deadline. When is it?'

Draco shook his head, looking away from her.

'You don't need to know. I want to Mate with you but I'm not going to guilt you into it.'

'So it's soon.'

No reply, black eyes studiously on the shadows flickering on the wall.

'Malfoy!'

'Three weeks and two days.'

She let out a soft moan and covered her eyes with her arms. She might have a bone to pick with Malfoy, but she certainly didn't want to be responsible for his death! And there were her own feeling to consider. There had been that crush on Draco in first year, until he had crushed her fragile, unspoken hopes, those girlish little dreams she hadn't even been fully aware she was having. She saw _that _Draco in him, still, assertive, ambitious, intelligent, beautiful. She didn't see the cruelty or the snobbishness. If she had met _this _Malfoy over an internet dating site or in a bar- minus fangy bits- would she have fallen for him? It wasn't fair to him to judge him on what he had been. Everyone deserved a second chance, right? But when it may be at the cost of her own freedom and happiness to this extent, there was herself to consider. Would it be her life for his?

'Don't be sad, my little tigress. I shouldn't have told you. I just want you to be happy, whatever you decide.

She blew out a breath and put a hand over his. Again, she was struck by the paradox; the swirling of the confused winds, reeling from change, calmed by the cause.

'What would make me happy is going back to Hogwarts.

'Bu-'

She held up a hand.

'I need to be in the normal world for a bit, as I make this decision. Here- it's all to overwhelming. You're the only person to talk to. We aren't the only ones affected, whatever happens.'

Hermione hesitated, then pushed on.

'But if I can go to Hogwarts I will, seriously, consider Mating you.'

***Holds breath with astonishment at GentleFlames literary adequateness* Soo, my beloved reviewers, do you have any particular fondness for cookies? I'm waving a tray under your nose right now. Smell that? Huh? Huh? Review. Get invisible cookie. Everyone is happy. Kapeesh? **


	11. In Which There Are Arrivals

**I would apologise, but I'm always doing that. I try. I fail. I fail epically. Oh, you convinced me. I'm sorry. There. *Tear*.**

Hogwarts loomed ahead of them, striking against the dull twilight. Draco had his arms linked loosely around her waist, standing behind her, his head tilted to her neck.

'You remember the rules?'

She sighed turned to look at him.

'Yeah. No touching other men. No being alone with other men. Staying with you for twenty three hours a day, with the other hour being spent with people you deem safe. No putting myself in any danger.'

Draco winced.

'I sound like an abusive boyfriend when you put it like that, but it's necessary, Hermione. I trust you, but not me. I get kind of aggressive when it comes to… _other males…_ if you haven't noticed.'

She gave a giggle. This situation was completely mad, and about to get even barmier, so why not chuckle? It was that or go insane and dance around the grounds in her underpants singing Purple Rain and talking cordially to individual blades of grass. Not that she had anything against grass. Or Purple Rain, for that matter. Perhaps she should be more open minded when perusing her options, although she did like wearing clothes.

With a deep breath- that sanity saving smile still firmly pasted across her face- she nodded, tugging at the hand of her snarly pet Veela.

'Now or never?'

He growled but, arm firmly around her waist, began to walk. The lush green trees and cobbled paths looked odd, if a bit more interesting, with a semi-mythical creature in her peripheral vision. There was the path she and Harry walked, discussing Ron's standoffish behaviour. Fang! The Womping Willow, beating ferociously at a confused fly. Claw! The place she punched Malfoy- Wing! That, incidentally, belonged to said boy, who looked more like he was marching off to war than going to school.

They were almost there, almost at the big wooden doors, ready to face an uncertain future. She was almost regretful about rapping her knuckles against the door. Was she really ready to ace her exams, face up to her friends, and keep her Veela under control simultaneously? And would the Perfect Attendance Committee she chaired accept her back after her sudden departure? Unlikely.

'You really can't internalise, can you?'

'What?'

He rolled his eyes, black with worry but still mischievous.

'Fucking Sarah Godwit taking over the chair… little cow skipped Biology once, I know she did… where to buy a Veela leash… don't you have a filter? Not that I'm complaining. It's adorable.'

She was about to come up with something hilarious, she was, but the door creaked open. The caretaker stood there, curved back drawn up regally, greasy hair shining in polished strings, leaving damp marks on his dirty shirt. His face was rat-like, impassive. Then-

'Sweet cat testicles!'

Gnarled hands flew up to clutch his throat as tiny eyes widened and the small man staggered back.

'Professors! It's Malfoy and Granger! Together! And wings! There are wings! And very sharp fangs! _Very _sharp!'

**DRACO POV**

Draco tried to close his mouth fully to cover the gleaming points, but it was hard to do that, snarl, and stand imposingly in front of _Mate-Hermione-Mine _at the same time. Footsteps, pounding against the stairs. Heavy ones, soft ones, layered on each other in a symphony of panic. He could taste relief and fear in the air. Good. They should be fearful. He would gut any male who came close. He would slice out their intestines with his claws and wrap it around their scrawny throats, and he would laugh.

_Mate-Hermione-Mine _had her soft, delicate little hand against his forearm.

'These are good people, Draco. You're going full-on Veela but you can't kill them. Please. They aren't going to hurt me.'

He choked back his growl and concentrated on that first-person stuff she loved so much.

'I'm trying, Hermione. I am.'

That was when McGonagall burst out from between the doors, resplendent in a fluffy nightgown, a book dangling between her fingers. Another female, too close. Another male, too close. So much danger, so many things to remember. Gutting was bad. First person was good. Smiling… no, Mate had told him the smiling wasn't such a good idea, what with the dentistry situation. She had also suggested baby pink nail polish to make his claws look less threatening. He had growled and she had laughed. Then suggested lilac. _Lilac. Pink. _Even the trembling bottom lip and wide brown eyes failed to work. Okay, they worked, but she had no nail polish handy. If he cared he would worry about his newly-grown man-gina. But he didn't, couldn't, and his Mate wanted to meet this people. So long as his hand was firmly cradling hers, he would deal and do whatever it took to see that beautiful smile light up her face, anything to hear her musical laugh. Give up his life to smell her cinnamon scent. He was ready to face the future, so long as she was there.

**What do you think? Too much treacle? To tired to threaten you. Review or die. **


	12. In Which There Are Bruised Apples

**F**

**Feel free to throw curled up hedgehogs. Ouch. Okay, you can stop. I was kind of joking. Stop! I'm not kidding, too far. Not the face! Not the face! I'll give you Veela, just… ouch…**

Hermione clutched his arm. She'd walked down these halls too many times to count, but this was different. She wasn't worrying about her Potions assignment, but what to do with the life that had flown down from the sky and plopped unceremoniously in her incapable hands. To be honest, she would rather be hyper venting over if she had used the right shade of red for her corrections; teachers, contrary to what she believed first year, were not inclined to die gruesomely if she only got an E.

'Here. The house elves are all asleep- we have no food for you- and Dumbledore is away at a ministry conference. Sheets are on the floor.'

The Professor opened a door with sharp, military movements. Her face was drawn, cracked with hard grey lines and providing an odd contrast against the luxuriant softness of the robe. The hand that twisted the knob was ridged with veins, and Hermione noticed with some surprise that McGonagall had gone from an ageless, stern matriarch to an all too human woman crippled by approaching old age in the six years she had attended the school. How, when exactly, had it happened?

The space revealed was dark and drab, but still a fair step up from the cave, boasting a double bed in placid beige, two small, white, chipped bedside tables, a tattered print of Helga Hufflepuff, and a rather disturbing full set of heavy steel chains bolted to the wall. Illumination was limited to four thin, yellowed candlesticks resting on the cabinets, which the Professor lit with a restrained flick of her wand. Small mountains of dust had collected in each cold stone corner.

'You'll be staying here for the night, so as not to disturb the other students. Please report to my office at seven o'clock on the dot. Mr. Weasely and Mr. Potter will, understandably, be eager to ascertain your safety.'

She peered at Hermione over the rims of her glasses, and the hard expression softened slightly.

'It is good to have you back, Miss Granger. Consider yourself excused from the transfiguration ethics pre-test tomorrow.' Thin lips twisted into a smile as the door closed gently, then hardened.

'Draco.'

The door closed sharply, obscuring her from view. Hermione let out a huff of air and flopped down on the bed, trying to ignore the billowing cloud of dust that flew from the thin mattress. Stressing about that report was so deep into nerd territory glasses would refuse to stay on her face and run off to help the vision of other, cooler people.

Goddamnit, she was not that bad! Seriously, the panic attack in Charms over a misspelling she had _just _remembered in her Potions written test was a one off and completely reasonable. Who cares if spelling had no influence on the score? And anyone could have thrown a glass vial at Neville's head after he complained about the pointlessness of homework. Besides, was it not her who performed the healing charm?

Denial was not just a river in Egypt.

All this self hate was making her thirsty. Picking the backpack Draco had shrugged from his shoulders up and unzipping it, she pulled out a battered plastic bottle with a small blue screw cap, half full of lukewarm water, and accompanied it with an apple so bruised it had dents where her fingers lightly gripped it. Not really the massive lamb roast with lashings of thick, creamy gravy and mountains of ice-cream she was craving, but close enough to edible she wouldn't have to worry about food poisoning.

Leaning back against the lumpy cushions and chewing deliberately, she watched Draco move around the room. His transformation seemed to have added grace to his walk, a semi-feline prowl that made him seen like a caged predator. It definitely wasn't a human stride, and made her wonder how much human, how much Malfoy, was left. Was he trapped inside the Veela's head, forced to love the girl he despised? Was this a two-for-one deal that would leave him with the raw end? Dear god, was she considering becoming some kind of rapist, forcing herself on a part of his subconscious?

'Draco?'

Silver eyes met hers.

'How much of, well, old Malfoy is there? Are there two of you?'

He sat on the end of the bed and tilted his head, seeming to consider her question. The words, when they came, seemed to have every syllable measured.

'Not exactly. I feel like me, just with new… instincts. The voice in my head _is_ the same, sounds… the same, I think. When I go full on Veela, I'm still there, just so… angry… or…'

He shook his head.

'But I am still me, Draco Malfoy, proud Slytherin, closet lover of chocolate, fan of silk sheets, fast Quidditch and gruesome murder novels, borderline psychopathic semi mythical creature. It's like another facet of my personality, but not a separate entity.'

Hermione sighed with relief, banishing the image of Malfoy in a glass box, pounding desperately at the walls and trying to get out. There was something slimy in her fruit that was of far more immediate concern now that she had assuaged her coincidence.

She was so engrossed in poking the soft hole suspiciously she almost missed the scrunching of the sheets as Draco slid in next to her.

'Didn't the teacher say to sleep on the floor?'

Somehow sharing a _proper _bed seemed way more intimate that snuggling together for warmth in a cocoon of blankets in a cave. Proper bed sharing was what her parents used to do, until they had a teenage daughter, love handles and a mid-life decrease in libido that she really didn't want to hear them discussing through the thin walls of her house. Proper beds were _stuff _happened.

From the set of his chin, she would be sleeping next to a massive, duvet hogging, incredibly irresistible man tonight.

Merlin help her.

**Hmph! Do you have any idea how many band aids I needed to cover up all the quill holes? If you were decent people you'd review with painkiller in the form of glowing praise. GUILT TRIP! Massive guilt trip. Guilt trip so big we're in Alaska right now, and I live in NZ. International sized guilt trip. No- we'll go to the moon! **


	13. In Which Stingrays Are Briefly Mentioned

**Just a thought- is anyone else ever irritated about the fact packets of chips have so much air and so little fat-drenched salt coated deliciousness trapped in that plastic bag? How am I meant to store blubber for the zombie apocalypse at this rate? Furthermore, lots of you have expressed your desire for longer chapters… it might take a bit longer, but I'm upping it from around 1000 words a chapter to 1500. I may have it longer/shorter depending on where I think the story is going. **

It had been the second time in a very few days that she had woken up with one of Draco's legs between hers, and she wasn't surprised that it still made a soft, tingling feeling in her lower stomach. His eyes had been open, drilling into her face, and one pianists hand buried into the force of nature that was her hair.

She had tried to enforce the sleeping on the ground rule, but that was doomed to fail. Something about 'males trying to steal her away'. I mean, was there any girl on the planet who could resist a possessive plea from quite possibly the hottest guy on the planet?

Not her. Luckily, her obsession with following rules hadn't turned to marshmallow along with her willpower, which was the sole reason they were standing in Professor McGonagall's waiting room on time.

'Our cave had a nicer décor.'

'Malfoy!'

'What? It's true. It was minimalistic. Industrial chic. This is just… beige.'

'And what's wrong with beige? I happen to like beige! It's very restful.'

'No one really likes beige. They tolerate it, ignore it, and dismiss it, but it's impossible to _like.' _

'Well, grey is the same! And that's all the cave was, grey and cold.'

He rolled his eyes, obviously playing a part.

'Oh darling, that was not grey- no!- not mere _grey, _it was a raw, earthy, natural shade of black, that most elemental of colours, it was a tone, a rainbow within the shadowy confines of its class. Never grey!'

Hermione whacked his arm. He was, admittedly, hilarious when he was sarcastic, but her mother always said it was best to lay ground rules early.

The door creaked open and Professor McGonagall's voice boomed from inside.

'Come in.'

They did, like two little (or in Draco's case abnormally tall) sheep. The office, unlike the waiting room, had the stone walls that made most of Hogwarts, and mildly more interesting furniture. She fixed her eyes on a modest acrylic portrait of Bickwack Bubbilgingus, the great wizarding philosopher, who leered back at her. She shuddered delicately.

Still, being perved at by a sausage nosed academic was better that meeting the Professor's steely glare. What would she say? Hey, you know that Veela who kidnapped me from the school train, hungers for my blood and wants to have sex with me? I'm thinking of giving him a shot. Just a test run, you understand.

That would go down like a sack of donkeys thrown off the Empire State Building into the abyss of hell, but it was true. She had promised she'd think about it, and she didn't break promises. Most of the time. Well, she was going to try and improve her terrible track record. Did that count for something?

A dry cough redirected her attention to the women standing ramrod straight behind a solid-looking desk.

'As you are no doubt aware, we have ourselves quite a tricky situation.'

Understatement of the decade right there, people.

'Although trawling through obscure Ministry For Protection Of Magical Creatures files revealed that, in Veela-human matings, the Veela must be permitted to interact with the human on the basis they are physically incapable of hurting them and suffer without contact, I'm not convinced that this should be applied in the case of two schoolchildren.'

She peered over the rim of her steel-framed spectacles. Hermione shuffled uncomfortably under the scrutiny. Teachers normally looked at her as though they wanted to praise her to the high heavens (most of them), hit her with some particularly creative curses for blurting out answers (some of them) or kill her in a psychopathic rage in the name of Voldemort (a surprisingly large number.) This was not any of the above.

'Professor, I don't see how we can do anything else. It's not Malfoy's fault he's a Veela, and being away from me causes him pain. We've agreed to some basic rules that should limit any carnage, and I turned seventeen two weeks ago, so we're both legal adults.'

'Be that as it may, this is an educational facility and as such, we have certain rules about cohabitation with the opposite gender, let alone re-arranging schedules for the sole purpose of being in the same class as a friend.'

Oh, and Hermione bet that when Godric and co had sat down and sketched out the rules they had keep in mind a giant, hot Veela man would be ridiculously possessive of the school nerd.

Malfoy spoke, his voice a low growl.

'I can't promise not to hurt anyone if they take her. I'm a Veela- it's in our blood.'

'Miss Granger, you can't possibly be comfortable with this.'

Hermione straightened the front of her robes. They hadn't been washed in three days, and were a bit ripe. Was she comfortable with this fucked up situation? Hell no, but that wasn't the right answer.

'This 'situation' is as comfortable as a mattress filled with rocks and warmed with molten lava, but Malfoy is right. He'll only hurt people if he can't see me, and that's the last thing anyone wants. Believe me, I'd rather be up in my dorm _reading _about Veela, trying to stop Ron eating a sock for a dare, and thinking Malfoy was one hundred percent wizard arsehole than fresh from an unheated cave trying to reason with a chauvinistic, mysonigistic Kentucky Unfried Chicken with a six pack, but life sometimes deals you stingrays instead of cards, and we all just need to deal with it.'

She felt a hand on her back and heard a voice in her ear.

'Breathe. You haven't for about two minutes.'

Rather annoyingly, he was right, and the lungful of oxygen she inhaled felt good.

McGonagall had sat down on the faded chair behind her desk and was surveying them both with those all-seeing eyes. One day Hermione hoped to be able to reduce people to quivering messes with just a glare, but it must be an acquired ability, like whistling.

Hermione couldn't whistle, and it was one of the many banes in her life.

'You make an unusually phrased , yet reasonable, case, Miss Granger, but by allowing you to continue sharing a room we might encounter some difficulty in the form of other students wishing to enter a similar situation with their boyfriends or girlfriends, an idea that would never be condoned.'

'I think our situation a little different, don't you?' Malfoy asked, idly stroking her wrist with his thumb.

'Marginally. Still, I cannot in all good faith allow Mr. Malfoy, and eventually you, Miss Granger, to be in agony. We have a small but furnished hut on the school grounds that you will be permitted to share. Separate beds will be provided. We will be able to alter the timetables, so long as Mr. Malfoy wouldn't mind taking Ancient Runes instead of Advanced Wizarding Philosophy?

'Fine.'

'Good. Oh! And Mr. Malfoy?'

'Yeah?'

'I read once that Veela have almost bulletproof skin. Would that be true?'

Draco wrinkled his brow and poked himself in the arm, a trifle pointlessly. Hermione chipped in.

'It's true; I read it in _Veela: A to V._'

'Perfect.'

Draco cocked his head, moving his hand up to Hermione's back. She tried to ignore the delicious warmth working its way up her spine- now was not the time or place. It felt… so… good… he was kneading the back of her neck in a way that should be illegal. Oh. Oh. This was so much better than that creepy, overweight guy in the Samoan spa. Wait. Teachers office. Reality, reality… it was somewhere around here… oh! Not in those big, gifted hands… that was just out of this world…

Draco cocked his brow, supremely unaffected.

'Why will I need bulletproof skin?'

The next words from McGonagall's mouth stopped that melty tingling in its tracks.

'Mr. Potter and Mr. Weasely are very eager to see the elusive Miss Granger, so much so that they are, at this very moment, being physically restrained from bursting into the room.'

Well okay then.

**I am hanging you over a cliff. See the cliff? It's scary, right? Wouldn't it be terrifying if I cut the review ropes? Better make them thicker by giving me your feedback, fast. Faster. TYPE, DAMN YOU!**


	14. In Which There Are Purple Worms

**For all those who read Cinnamon Hearts, the big break was because I was stockpiling. Twenty chapters. And then the computer crashed. I've deleted the story. Sorry. I cried. I cried like a baby. Just read this. Gah! Oh, and for those of you who like being blackmailed, I have some major carrot-and-stick going on at the bottom of the chapter…**

Hermione was not a big supporter of murder.

Oh, she knew that in certain circumstances it was necessary, and _yes, _she had occasionally threatened Ron with it. And Harry. Occasionally Neville. But unless she had pulled a Ginny and been temporarily possessed by a leather bound book, she hadn't actually made good on her snarled oaths.

Ron was the same; frequently promising gruesome death by mauling, strangling by large intestine, and obscure forms of Eastern torture, memorised from Hermione's rants. He was a lot of bark and minimal bite, not from lack of will, but rather absence of skill. It wasn't him she was worried about; getting punched by Ron was, she was informed, like getting hit on the face by a large white noodle. He was more of a cat-fighter, all nails and hair pulling.

Harry James Potter, in contrast, had killed in self defence and battle. The exact number and amount of actual humanity possessed by victim was a subject of debate, but they all knew he had been the direct and indirect cause for slaughter. After the Final Battle, he had taken up mixed martial arts and competitive duelling. He was- Hermione hated the word- baddass. Epically baddass, if she was to sink deeper into the sad world of slang.

Draco was also a formidable opponent, equipped with a powerful wand, spell deflecting barrier, claws, fangs, and the best arms Hermione had ever seen. By virtue of his species, Draco would probably win the fight, but it would be bloody.

She might be considering Draco's unorthodox courtship, but Harry was one of her best friends. If he came out with all guns (wands) blazing, he might turn into her best friend that could fit in a matchbox.

'Lemme in!'

'I'm going to kick his butt so hard it will _concave!' _

'Where is Hermione? I have no ethical problems with sticking this wand down your throat!'

'Mr Weasely, please stop attempting to turn me into a rabbit.'

Do you think I'm joking? Do you _want _to be deep throated by my magic wood? Why do they let you work in a school?'

'Gerroff!'

McGonagall sighed heavily and made her way to the office door.

'Let them in, men. Slowly. Keep them contained.'

The scuffles became a touch more rhythmic, and the two boys were manhandled onto the room by six burly men. Rather entertainingly, five of them were managing Harry.

'Hermione!'

'_Ron. _Harry! I'm okay. Really. Just a mishap. A misunderstanding…? I'm fine.'

Harry snorted. His black hair was dishevelled, glasses askew, knuckles white.

'You were kidnapped by that… Malfoy… chicken… thing! Hermione, you were gone for almost three days!'

She sighed. This was never going to be easy, but it was unprecedented that it would be this… hard.

'It's not Malfoy's fault. He's a Veela. I'm his Mate. Come on Harry, Ron, you know me. If he tried anything I would slice up his balls and shove them down his throat.'

The two boys had mostly stopped trying to attack the men who held them. Most of the anger was gone, too, replaced by hysteria. Had they even slept? Ron was hyper venting, hiding his face in the thick-knit woollen sweater he had on. It was a horrible sweater, too; not that she was a fashion goddess, but green crocheted dancing reindeers on a spotted bright orange and blue background wasn't exactly the kind of thing found on the pages of Vogue.

It reminded her of the massive grey sweatshirt she wore whenever she had cramps. Oh, God, she'd given Ron emotional period pains! She ran her eyes over him. Greasy hair… zits… big, weepy eyes… yes, this was a boy on his mental rag.

Draco's hand was firm against her back, and she leaned into it.

'Draco's sorry, isn't he?'

She twisted to look at him. Steely grey eyes were fixed on the men and boys before him, but at least his muscles were loose and his face was in more of a grimace than the terrifying snarls she'd seen. Progress.

'Yes. My… abduction… was made in a bit of a haze. The Veela in me doesn't have much respect for boundaries. Laws. Decency. I am sixty percent certain that it will not happen again.'

Hermione rolled her eyes.

'Ron, what's wrong? You look constipated.'

'How much is sixty percent?'

'A lot. Yeah, we'll go with that.'

McGonagall was making choking noises from the corner, but Hermione was more focussed on the throbbing vein in Harry's forehead. It was like a little purple worm.

'I was good at math back in the Muggle world and I'm not very reassured, Hermione. You were _kidnapped _and yeah, they explained the creepy Veela thing to us, but no one seems to care that he broke the law. How can you just stand there with him?'

Hermione winced.

'Professor, can we all break for a little while and meet back in the Gryffindor common room in twenty minutes? The boys can calm down. I don't want to talk in front of the human straightjackets.'

A thin, knobbly finger pushed glasses up a beak of a nose.

'Very well- but not the common room. Dumbledore's office, twenty minutes. Men? Take the boys there. Mr Malfoy and Granger? Go get a glass of water from the kitchens. Quickly, now.'

Hermione didn't hear the swearing or thudding. The world around her was buzzing and Draco was the only warm, still thing in it.

It was then that she had a revelation that completely and utterly changed everything.

**And it was… what was that? The fanfiction meter's run out? Well I guess we'll need at least 30 reviews before I update again… not even kidding, guys ;). Dun dun dun… *cackles evilly*. **


	15. In Which There Are Flashbacks

**Yes, I am updating like lighting. Worship me, oh monkey faced angel fish. And while you're swinging through the underwater forest to find Eve's apples, read eccentriccharms Twilight story, One Night Stand. I beta it, it's awesome. Go. Go, my foxy butterfly birds! **

It hit Hermione like a logging truck as she walked down the stairs to the kitchens.

She was in like with Malfoy.

Not love, not yet… it _couldn't _be love… but she wanted to don a cowboy hat and ride him until all she could see were stars. Then she wanted to hug him to her chest like he was a massive teddy bear and never let him go.

Yeah, she liked him.

Was it a crush? She was too mature for that now, right? Crushes were for first years awkwardly holding out clumps of bruised daisies to the object of their affections, second years shyly offering a dropped pencil, third years stuttering out an invitation to Hogsmade. It was most certainly not a seventh year with Stockholm Syndrome.

Still, no matter how you defined it, her deal with Malfoy went deeper than the get-out-of-cave free Mating she had agreed to. Feelings were involved on both sides.

Jeez, it was like a friends with benefits arrangement gone wrong.

Not that anyone was going to 'benefit' for a while. She was holding the V-Card tight to her chest. Yeah, if it wasn't played in two and a half weeks Draco would die, but lifelong commitment and the loss of her virginity was not something she took lightly. Hearts were too easily scarred.

_Hermione clutched the books to her chest and ran a hand quickly through her hair, wincing as it tugged at her scalp. The courtyard was buzzing, swarming with hundreds of students striding with single minded determination to their next class. She had her first class for Transfiguration. All the literature she'd read surrounding it made it sound like a hard subject, one of the most difficult in the junior program, and she was buzzing with nerves._

_Tall bodies swirled around, draped in black robes. She barely came up to their chests, although her hair added an extra few inches. Insignificant. That was what she was; an ant in a stampede of buffalos. Luckily a stream in the black tide was heading towards the right class, and she rode the current._

_The corridors were slightly less packed, and the door clicked closed behind her, a shield against the fury. Most of the tables were empty, except for two at the back. Two thickset boys, a slim, wiry blonde, and one dark haired girl were talking animatedly._

_Draco Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle, she thought. The boys from the train and… Pansy? Petunia? Some flower starting with P, anyhow. _

_They all seemed to be having the time of their lives, except the blonde. He wasn't exactly unhappy looking, more reflective and removed._

_He was also beautiful._

_She hadn't gotten a good glimpse of him before, but now she could see the straight nose, clear skin, thick lashes that framed steely eyes. The pushed up sleeves of his robes showed surprisingly defined muscle and his hair looked charmingly devil-may-care, not a nest like hers, just beautifully disarrayed. _

_She almost didn't see the other students file in._

The scene changed, morphing into an open space lit in warm sunshine.

_Hermione riffled through the dog eared pages, indulging herself in a quick glide of fingertips over raised title. _Hogwarts; A History, _they read. One week here and she could still hardly believe that she was a witch in a magic castle where doors moved out of their own accord and staircases had a social life._

_Yes, the castle was good, and her lessons excellent, very challenging. Those were the things she emphasised in her rambling letter home. So what if she had no friends? It wasn't as though that was a big change from the school she went to as a Muggle. And yes, Dra- _boys_ seemed to hate her, but what else was new? She wasn't as pretty as Pansy or as nice, easygoing and vacant as Lavender. Who would be interested in her?_

_Voices disturbed the peace and Hermione shifted in annoyance until she saw who it was cresting the hill._

_'Really, Draco? Your parents must be very rich.' _

_He shrugged. The movement was languid, like that of a big cat. Hermione stared furiously at her book._

_'I suppose. We're worth a few hundred million, I know that much.'_

_How could he say it so casually? From the basic knowledge she had about Galleon currency, one of those gold suckers was worth ten pounds. She knew the Malfoy family was rich, but… billionaires? She was wearing the same denim skirt she bought three years ago. Far too much leg was showing, now._

_'Really? Draco, my family… oh.'_

_'Hmm?'_

_'It's _Granger. _That plain, bookish girl._'

_'Is it, now.'_

_'Did you know she's a Mudblood? I don't think they should let that sort in, do you?'_

_'Well, obviously not.'_

_Hermione slouched a little more. Her eyes were burning holes in the page._

_'And she is just so… unkept! That hair needs a muzzle and some obedience training- it looks like a vomit coloured poodle.'_

_'You do realise, Daphne, that in all likelihood she can hear you.'_

_ Daphne. That was the name of the perfect brunette with smouldering grey eyes, clear skin, and melodic voice. The girl she could never be, and not only because her blood was 'tainted'._

_'Hurry up. Your sister and Zabini are waiting.' _

_'Fine, fine!'_

_Fine indeed._

A slightly greyer day with slightly tamer hair.

_'Get on your way, _Mudblood.'

_Hermione huffed, holding out an arm to stop Ron charging._

_'You are such a boring, repetitive elitist, Malfoy! Don't you have anything better to do… stealing candy from babies, that kind of thing?'_

_He gave them a smirk, flicking gleaming hair,_

_'No, that's booked in at three once I finish tripping up old ladies. I have a whole hour to remind you of your lowly status.'_

_'Piss off, Malfoy.'_

_'Shut up, Potter.'_

_Hermione let out a shriek and turned on her heel. Malfoy's voice drifted after her. _

_'Run little Mudblood, run, but you'll never leave behind the sludge in your blood!_

_Hermione would later swear that she hadn't curled up and cried in her bed that night._

By the lake.

_'Muddy!'_

_'What _is _it, Malfoy?' Hermione snarled. The fascinating autobiography of Erudite Speakere fell from her lap._

_'How does it feel knowing no one will ever be able to kiss you? It would be almost impossible to find your face under that mop.'_

_'Piss off!'_

In class.

_'You pig! Give me back my pencil! Malfoy, come on!'_

In the Great Hall.

_ 'Planning to power Diagon Ally with the electricity generated by your hair, Granger?'_

Snap.

_'Mudblood!'_

Snap.

_'Oi, Granger, keep your buck teeth away from me. I don't want to catch your ugly.'_

Snap.

_Punching him, fist on nose._

Snap.

Snap.

'Hermione!'

Hermione snapped out of her daze and turned around.

'Lavender?'

The other girl squealed and clapped her hands. She was wearing all pink, a sugary confection that hurt Hermione's eyes.

'So is it true you got expelled for making a porno with Draco Malfoy?'

Not so much as a how-are-you.

**So people think Hermione has joined the seedy cinema… why? When? What? Who? How? You'll find out when I get five more reviews that last time… 46… so if you haven't reviewed yet, do! Otherwise these poor little characters will be stuck in time forever, and Hermione looks constipated. **


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